September in Kansas brings its annual comedy show—watching neighbors simultaneously run their air conditioners and heaters on the same day. Maybe you’ve overheard someone say, “I wore shorts this morning and needed a jacket by lunch!”
This weather whiplash mirrors something deeper in our lives. We constantly adjust, trying to control our comfort and security. We check weather apps, stock market apps, and bank apps, all attempting to predict and manage what’s coming. We hold tight to what we can control—our schedules, our savings, our loved ones—because letting go feels like inviting chaos.
But what if the invitation isn’t to chaos but to trust? What if loosening our grip actually opens our hands to receive something better? As we launch our Tomorrow First worship series today, we explore how one man’s willingness to release everything became the foundation for faith that still speaks to us. This is a story about discovering that when we can’t control anything, we can trust everything.
Tomorrow First invites us on a five-week journey exploring how God meets us in the spaces we create together. Just as our building has sheltered McPherson families for decades—through hail storms, economic crashes, and pandemics—these biblical stories show how physical spaces become holy when we encounter God there.
But before we can create welcoming spaces, we need Abraham’s foundation: trusting that God provides. You see, maintaining a building that serves our community—from Wednesday night kids zone and youth group to food cupboard distributions to Saturday support group meetings—requires more than good intentions. It requires the same radical trust Abraham showed on Mount Moriah. His words “God will see to it” aren’t just ancient history; they’re the confession that makes ministry possible in every generation.
A United Methodist congregation in our conference learned something powerful during their capital campaign. They invited everyone to start with the same prayer: “God, what would You do through me?”
A nurse who’d been working overtime through the pandemic prayed this during her break. She’d been saving those extra shift payments for a dream vacation to finally rest. But God seemed to whisper, “What about using it here?” A young electrician, just established in his trade, felt God nudging him toward the savings he’d accumulated for a new truck. A widow living on social security sensed God saying, “Remember that CD that just matured?”
When commitment Sunday arrived, the amounts varied dramatically. But each person shared the same experience: God had answered their prayer with something specific that required real trust.
The nurse said, “I need that vacation, but I need to be part of God’s work more.” The electrician admitted, “My old truck runs fine—pride wanted the upgrade.” The widow smiled, “That CD was my security blanket, but God is my security.”
The campaign exceeded its goal, but that wasn’t the real story. The story was a congregation discovering that when everyone asks “God, what would You do through me?” and listens honestly, transformation happens. Each gift was different, but each came from wrestling with the same prayer.
The electrician now mentors youth in the trades. He says, “God didn’t just use my money—God transformed my priorities.”
That congregation’s experience of sacrificial giving mirrors Abraham’s story. Like them, Abraham was asked not just to give, but to sacrifice—to offer what mattered most while trusting God’s provision.
Genesis 22 was likely written during Israel’s exile in Babylon, when they’d lost everything—temple, homeland, hope. These weren’t people debating theology in comfort; they were refugees wondering if God had abandoned them. They needed to remember that their ancestor Abraham had also faced complete loss and found God faithful.
In Abraham’s culture, your firstborn son was everything—retirement plan, family legacy, and proof of divine blessing rolled into one. Isaac wasn’t just Abraham’s child; he was the miracle baby born when Abraham was 100, the living promise that Abraham would father nations. Asking Abraham to sacrifice Isaac was like asking him to destroy his past, present, and future in one act.
Yet notice how the story unfolds. The Hebrew word translated as “test” doesn’t mean God was curious about Abraham’s faith. Like fire refines gold, this test revealed to Abraham the depth of his own trust. And throughout the narrative, forms of the word “see” appear seven times. “God will see to it,” Abraham tells Isaac. After God provides the ram, Abraham names the place “The Lord sees.”
This wasn’t coincidence. The ram didn’t happen to wander by at the right moment. It was already there, horns tangled in the thicket, waiting. God had seen this moment coming and prepared the provision before Abraham ever climbed the mountain. This pattern echoes throughout scripture—widow’s oil that never runs out, five loaves feeding thousands, and ultimately, God providing the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world. This divine pattern of provision shapes how we understand generosity today.
Abraham’s radical trust challenges us to examine our own relationship with what we treasure. John Wesley, who founded Methodism, understood this deeply. Though he earned what would be $160,000 today from his writings, Wesley lived on $30,000 and gave away the rest. He taught that we’re not owners but trustees—everything we have belongs to God, entrusted to us for good stewardship.
Wesley’s famous sermon “The Use of Money” outlined three rules that sound simple but prove revolutionary: Gain all you can (through honest work that helps rather than harms), save all you can (by living simply, not wastefully), and give all you can (after providing necessities for family). But Wesley knew these weren’t really rules about money—they were about trust.
This ancient story speaks directly to our modern anxieties, where true security feels just out of reach no matter how much we accumulate. But what if we brought Abraham’s trust into our own contexts?
Think about the single parent working two jobs, wondering how to manage after the car repair wiped out savings. What would happen if she asked, “God, what will You do through me?” Maybe God’s answer isn’t about money at all—maybe it’s about her gift for organizing that could help streamline our food cupboard operations, multiplying her impact beyond any check.
Consider the couple who just became empty nesters, their mortgage finally paid off after thirty years. For the first time, they have margin. When they ask God’s question, they might hear an invitation to transform that margin into ministry—not just financially, but by mentoring young families who are where they were decades ago.
Or the contractor who’s had his best year ever, despite economic uncertainty. He’s been prudent, saving for the lean times he knows will come. But when he prays “God, what will You do through me?” he might discover that his security isn’t in his savings account but in the God who’s sustained his business through every season.
Each person’s Mount Moriah looks different. What we’re asked to release is unique to our circumstances. But the question remains the same: Do we trust the God who sees and provides?
The good news is that God sees and provides before we even know we need it. The ram was already in the thicket, caught and waiting, before Abraham lifted the knife. This is how God works—going ahead of us, preparing provision in places we haven’t yet arrived.
This golden thread runs throughout scripture. God created a world of abundance where one seed yields thirty, sixty, or a hundredfold. God rained manna daily in the desert, teaching that today’s provision is always sufficient. And ultimately, God provided the Lamb—Jesus Christ—not after we proved worthy but “while we were yet sinners.”
In Jesus, we see God’s economy clearly: the more you pour out, the more you’re filled. Not because giving manipulates God into blessing us—this isn’t a celestial slot machine. Rather, giving aligns us with reality. We’re created in the image of a generous God who gives continuously—every breath, every sunrise, every moment of grace.
The gospel liberates us from the tyranny of “equal gifts.” You don’t have to match someone else’s donation. You’re invited into equal sacrifice—giving proportionally from what God has entrusted to you. Whether it’s $3 or $300,000, when offered in faith, God multiplies it beyond our imagination.
Ready to move from hearing to doing? Here are practical steps to discover what God would do through you:
Begin with prayer: “God, what will you do through me?” Don’t start with calculations or comparisons. Simply ask and listen. Like the nurse who heard God speak during her break, or the electrician who sensed God’s nudge about his truck fund, be open to unexpected answers. Set aside quiet time this week to ask this question. The response might surprise you.
Practice “providence spotting.” Each evening, write down one way God provided that day—strength for a difficult task, an unexpected blessing, or a timely help. Building this gratitude practice strengthens our trust muscle, preparing us to give with confidence.
Identify your sacrifice. What would require real trust for you to release? For the widow in our story, it was her CD—her security blanket. For the electrician, his new truck fund. What represents security or comfort that God might be asking you to redirect? Name it honestly. Sometimes identifying what we’re gripping helps us open our hands.
Share the prayer. Invite someone else to ask “God, what would You do through me?” Maybe it’s your spouse, your small group, or a trusted friend. Hearing how God speaks to others helps us recognize God’s voice in our own lives.
Remember: This isn’t about matching someone else’s gift. It’s about listening for what God uniquely asks of you and responding faithfully to that personal call. Your response to “God, what will You do through me?” is between you and God.
That electrician who chose ministry over a new truck discovered what Abraham knew: God multiplies whatever we place in open hands. Our Tomorrow First campaign isn’t really about matching someone else’s gift—it’s about matching their sacrifice.
Every time you enter our building—whether for worship, food cupboard volunteering, UMW or scout meetings—you’ll experience the fruit of someone’s sacrifice. Past generations gave proportionally so we could gather comfortably today. Now it’s our turn to sacrifice so future generations can encounter God here.
Mountains of testing become monuments of faithfulness. Today, we each face our own Mount Moriah. Not equal gifts, but equal sacrifice. What sacrifice is God calling you to make? We’re rooted in thanksgiving because we serve the God who sees our sacrifice and multiplies our offerings—yesterday, today, and tomorrow first.
Will you pray with me?
Providing God, we release our grip on tomorrow, trusting you’ve already prepared what we need. Give us Abraham’s faith to say “Here I am” with open hands. Amen.
In crafting today’s sermon, I employed AI assistants like Claude and Apple Intelligence, yet the ultimate responsibility for its content rests with me. These tools offered valuable perspectives, but the most influential sermon preparation hinges on biblical study, theological insight, personal reflection, and divine guidance. I see AI as a supportive aid to enrich the sermon process while ensuring my own voice in proclaiming the Word of God.
Rev. Andrew Conard 